What No One Can Turn Back
by Mademoiselle Anime Amour
Summary: Raymond Leon is often scoffed at for being a Timekeeper. Everyone finds him cruel and unsympathetic. But, they do not know the true story. That he had a best friend once. His name was Paul Salas.


**A/N: OK, this is a looooong one, so I won't make this author's note too long. OK, so, I essentially wrote this in response to my frustation with the movie In Time and my straight-up EXASPERATION I had in the knowledge that Cillian Murphy's character wasn't developed enough. And Will Salas' father not being explained in detail. So, without further ado, here are the results of that.**

**Disclaimer: I own nothing.**

* * *

_As the battles raged higher  
And though they did hurt me so bad  
In the fear and alarm  
You did not desert me  
My brothers in arms_

_-"Brothers in Arms", Dire Straits_

* * *

**What No One Can Turn Back**

It was just another day, around high noon. Only, no one really measured time in days. No one kept track if it was October, November, December, etc. No one bothered to name the days of a single week any more. Monday, Tuesday, and all other day names had bitten the dust. All it mattered was precious hours, minutes, and seconds. Many people couldn't survive a single day these days, especially in the ghettos of Dayton. If they did manage to live to the next morning, they just lucked out.

Raymond Leon knew this better than anyone. He was just on patrol today through this city, the furthest from pristine anything could possibly get. It had been so long since he last set eyes on the place…He thought he'd never see it again. Nor did he ask to see it again. Not after the hell he'd been through in this place. Not after the ordeal he'd faced just two years ago…

The few people who did recognize him as he walked the streets shot him looks filled with disdain. Accustomed to this type of hatred from those who simply refused to understand what he did for a living, Raymond ignored these people. What did they know about what the Timekeepers truly stood for anyway? They chose to remain ignorant, stuck in their ways in the poorest excuse of a city without hoping to better their circumstances. Considering how he escaped from this merciless place, he would have thought others would have followed his example.

Instead, whenever some revolutionary popped up to challenge the natural order of things, these foolish paupers would praise that individual, whom they would embrace as their leader. Leader of what? A ragtag army of desperately starving hooligans who would break the law if given the opportunity?

Raymond scoffed, though he remembered one such individual who ended up rebelling against the rules that ran their world. An individual who meant more to him than even he sometimes realized or cared to recall…

* * *

Raymond Leon's childhood was far from perfect, as much as he would hate to admit it to anyone, thus his current reserved nature. However, it stemmed from an understandable cause that would perhaps have made him more sympathetic to the eyes of passersby. His parents had been ruthless to him, setting high expectations for him to succeed.

For, the Leons weren't the average poor family. Indeed, at one point, his parents had been immensely wealthy with an elaborate residence in New Greenwich. Ill-fatedly, due to his brash arrogance, Thomas Leon had made a bad investment in a steel company that soon went under due to a workers' strike. The ensuing repercussions of that factory shutting down rendered him and his wife Lorelei bankrupt, and they had no choice but to put the mansion up for sale in favor of a seedy apartment in Dayton.

Granted, it served as one of the more well-to-do parts of the area, but that wasn't saying much. And true to his acrid nature, Thomas ultimately cursed the former steel factory's employees for his poverty and fate as a lowly bartender rather than his own selfish pride. Lorelei, naturally, shared the same attitude.

All of this occurred before Raymond was born, and so, the parents passed on their embittered attitudes down to the son. Their expectations for him tended to be more on the ludicrous side, even since his earliest childhood days. Intelligence had to be key—after all, how else could he be a prodigious student?—to his success. He had to compensate for his parents' failings and shortcomings by being the head of his class. As for Raymond's behavior at home, anything remotely defiant would reap some harsh consequences.

Neither Thomas nor Lorelei was physically domineering or abusive by nature, but they used their sharp tongues to cow their son if he so much as did something they considered foolish. One circumstance happened when he was six years old after he had accidentally knocked a glass of milk over on the counter.

His father proceeded to berate him by calling him "an idiotic, clumsy child" while his ever doting mother chimed in with, "I just wiped that counter down an hour ago, you brat."

Consequently, by the age of nine, Raymond suffered from low self-esteem issues and a desire to be reserved in class. Interacting with his fellow classmates was something he refused to partake in. He wouldn't go so far as to bully the other students or devastate them with his veiled insults that he would come to be known for later in life. Rather, he would settle his head in crossed arms, hoping no one would see what he was doing or acknowledge his presence. Much to his relief, no one usually did except for the teacher who would tell him to lift his head up. Why bother? He never got any proper sleep at home due to the shouting matches between his mother and father. What was the use in sleeping at home when he could sneak in a few minutes' respite at school?

Sleeping issues aside, he was one of the brightest students in the third grade, though that gave him no relief either. He would be scolded by his parents if he received a respectable A- on a spelling test. Sometimes, when not attempting for a nap, Raymond would let his mind wander to other curious thoughts. Would he ever escape this miserable place? Would the faculty mind if he took up residence in the elementary school instead of the run-down apartment he had to call home?

And the most morose question of all: what was it like to have friends?

Yes, it was true. Raymond Leon had never really known what a friend was. The concept remained foreign to him, though he would be out of elementary school in a couple of years. His shyness and his tendency to stay quiet at all times didn't exactly make him the most popular kid around. If anything, it caused him to be ridiculed by a select few classmates who did nothing but push him around and make him feel worthless. Degrading enough that he had to deal with it at home, but at school, it caused him to wither away inside each time he was tormented. He knew his parents would not be champions for him in this case, so he never revealed his social troubles.

Not only did his family remain ignorant of his misery but the teachers were as well. But, that was because he was adamant in not telling them anything. They weren't related to him, so they couldn't become invested in him on a personal level. They only served as tutors to mold him into a brighter, more intelligent student. That was their purpose, no more and no less. Not to him anyway.

One day, the playground bullies ran in a mass after him, to prey on him after he called them "filthy idiots who deserved to be held back." They couldn't exactly take his lunch money, since time was money in his world, after all. However, they planned to pummel him to within an inch of his life. As he fled from the foolish fourth graders, Raymond slid under a nearby slide, hoping they wouldn't spot him.

"Hey, how'd you know this was my spot?" a voice asked, more inquisitive than irked at the sudden intrusion.

Glancing at the boy sitting next to him, Raymond noted that this was Paul Salas, a fellow classmate of his. Oh, the soon-to-be legendary Paul Salas, to be sure, what with how cocky he could be in and outside of class. Though he was a bright boy, it was no excuse for him to carry himself with such self-congratulatory airs and trying to prove that he was better than everybody else. He surrounded himself with many friends and was indeed extremely popular. Raymond sniffed, surprised that the crowning glory of the third grade would condescend to speak to such an insignificant insect like him.

"Oh, you," he muttered acidly while hesitantly peeking out from under the slide. Apart from hearing joyous squeals of those going down the slide, he didn't hear the gruff, snide voices of his usual predators. He let out a little sigh of relief.

Paul tapped him on the shoulder and stifled a chuckle when he jumped, proceeding to shoot a venomous look. "Don't."

"You still haven't answered my question."

"I don't care, I didn't know this was your stupid spot," Raymond shot back, summoning what he hoped would be his powers of intimidation to glare still more lethally at arrogant Paul Salas.

Letting his hand go limp and rest at his side, Paul glanced out from under the slide himself, wondering what Raymond was being so cautious about. "What were you doing anyway?"

"Those fourth graders were after me and planned on beating me up," he replied as casually as though he was giving a report on the weather, though his already cold blue eyes turned even icier.

"Well, you know, if you hang out with me, that's not gonna happen."

"What? What are you talking about?"

Paul elaborated, "I know you, Ray. You're in my class, and it looks like you don't have any friends."

"Your observational skills shock me."

"Doesn't matter, OK? I'm just saying I want to be your friend. You need someone to hang out with, to get those bullies off your back and stuff."

At that moment, Raymond faced an impasse. He had one of two options to pick from: either befriend Salas and doom himself to a lifetime of being annoyed or being forever alone and harassed by those with lower IQs than him. Decisions, decisions…

"OK, fine, we're friends," he quickly resolved, hoping he wouldn't live to regret this later.

To his surprise, Paul genuinely smiled at this. "Cool. You could come hang at my place after school if you want. Do all sorts of stuff."

"Don't push it," Raymond wryly responded, though with an interesting cross between a smirk and a smile. No one at school had been this forthrightly kind to him before. He did wonder if Paul was aware of the consequences that would come from being friends with the least popular kid in school. And if so, did he decide to proposition him with friendship out of pity? Or was there more to it than that?

All he knew was that he'd finally managed to obtain a friend. Granted, a friend that was his polar opposite, what with his carelessly disheveled blond hair and radiating confidence, but a friend nonetheless. Hopefully, Paul Salas would prove to be valuable somehow, a good excuse for him not to come home to the chaos that usually awaited him after school.

Little did he know that accepting Paul's friendship would serve him well not just in that aspect but much more in the long run.

* * *

Over the years, Raymond and Paul stayed friends, to the puzzlement of many of their peers, a complicated head-scratcher that couldn't be solved. However, the two boys had become quite close, to the extent that their friendship was more brotherly in nature. One was rarely seen without the other in the hallways. And Raymond made a point to spend time at the Salas' as often as possible, even though their apartment managed to be more rundown than his family's. The only difference between the two was the atmosphere, the feelings he would get from each place.

Mr. and Mrs. Salas were warm and welcoming toward him the first time he was introduced to them through Paul, and he regarded them as the parents he never had…at least, the ones he would have preferred having. Mrs. Salas would always ask if he wanted anything to eat or invite him to stay over for dinner while Mr. Salas would ask him how his day was. They treated him like family, something Raymond could both respect and admire. Whereas his parents were as cold and verbally abusive as ever, these people acted like they cared about him. He could honestly say he never got much of that from anyone, this kindness, this attentiveness to how he felt and what he needed.

Most of all, he legitimately found a brother in Paul, who burst with energy and confidence, always coming up with ideas as to what to do. When they were younger, they would play around in the back alleys, pretending to be cops and robbers, switching roles whenever the fancy struck them. They would go to the local fast food joint and get themselves a couple of burgers and milkshakes every so often, as a special treat. Most of all, despite them being the same age, Paul protected Raymond like an older brother would. He always cowed Raymond's bullies and defended him to everybody he knew. Of course, Paul maintained his popularity, as most of his friends thought he was performing a charitable act on this outcast. This so-called friendship between them surely couldn't last.

The naysayers were proven wrong. By the time they started attending high school, Paul and Raymond were still friends, yin and yang, light and dark. Two total opposites that differed so much that it seemed impossible they could empathize with each other as well as they did. Stunned and mesmerized by such an occurrence as these two being best friends, most people stopped teasing Raymond at school. The taunts as to his brains and appearance no longer mattered. On the contrary, he would catch the occasional glances from several girls lusting after him, as he'd become quite a handsome teen. However, having a girlfriend was the last thing on his mind. He'd seen how a relationship could go wrong, no thanks to his parents. He shuddered to think as to how he'd end up treating a girl, given the example he'd been forced to grow up with his whole life.

Besides, it had been enough of a miracle to let his best friend Paul Salas into his life as it was. Still unsure about trusting anyone else, Raymond kept his distance from others as he'd always done, satisfied with having his only friend.

One day, he came close to dangerously losing him forever.

It started out simply enough, this driving force behind this heart-pounding incident. Paul thought it would be an impeccable idea for the two of them to hang out with a group of Paul's friends, just to get Raymond more comfortable around them. Though ill at ease with this plan, Raymond acquiesced to it to partially please his friend and partially because he knew that now this was high school, certain individuals had changed. Either for the worse or the better, he couldn't quite gauge, but he would just have to chance it.

The six teenagers stopped at the diner after school to eat a few burgers, sip a few milkshakes, and enjoy each other's company in general. Raymond sat across from Paul, who idly chatted with him while having an arm lazily draped around Rachel, his latest girlfriend. From the way the brown-eyed blond (though not so blond now, his hair shades darker than it used to be) looked at her, she was most likely going to be around for a while. Already, he'd behaved differently around her, in a way unlike with his other female conquests. Raymond almost had to smirk at the thought. It would appear that finally, in their junior year, Paul had found the perfect girl to be committed to. He hoped for his good friend that their relationship would last for months to come. Maybe it would be years.

In the meantime, Lindsey, one of Rachel's friends, was trying to flirt with him. She batted her eyelashes, elongated with mascara, at him, but Raymond paid her little attention. Homework served to him as more important than having a girlfriend around. Teenage critics often accused him of being gay for this reason alone, but they could not have been further from the truth. He just hadn't found a girl to be completely and utterly attracted to yet…if he would at all.

Jake and Ben were the other two, and they went out of their way to make Raymond more comfortable in a group setting. How bizarre that they actually didn't block him out and exclude him like mostly everybody else at school did. Paul certainly set him up with good people to be around…Lindsey was questionable, but it wasn't as though she was that offensive or repulsive a creature.

At that moment, the presence of a small hand on his knee distracted him, for he stiffened and froze. His nostrils flared, but otherwise, outwardly, Raymond remained the very picture of tranquility. He exhaled slowly, not wanting to look upon the owner of that hand. Much to his reluctance, he did anyway.

Lindsey leaned so close to him that if he glanced further down, he would be staring at her cleavage. "So, Ray, how do you like hanging out with us so far?"

"It's been enjoyable so far, thank you," he replied stiffly, irked that she now started rubbing his knee. Since when was he an object to these impertinent young women? He very much disliked this, shuddering inwardly at her not-so-innocent touch.

For propriety's sake, however, he would disregard how awkward and borderline sickened this flirtation was making him, opting instead to drink more of his vanilla milkshake. He had to make an effort to actually like Paul's other friends, after all.

"Got a girlfriend?" Now, Lindsey reached her other hand up to his hair, which she combed her fingers through.

Raymond nearly choked on his milkshake.

Intuitively, it seemed, Rachel picked up on his discomfort, for she told off her friend. "Lindsey, I don't think he's interested."

"Yeah," Paul chimed in. "Ray isn't easy, you know. You can't get away with having sex with him on this table, you naughty little tease."

"Paul!" Rachel and Raymond protested, Rachel more sternly and Raymond groaning in embarrassment.

Ever the slightly irreverent one, Paul held back his head and laughed. "I'm joking, I'm joking. Relax, guys. But, seriously, Linz, you're making my best friend uncomfortable. I'm starting to think you should be relocated somewhere else."

"Yes, please," Raymond muttered bitterly under his breath while Lindsey looked taken aback.

"But…But, I was just having some fun with him, isn't that right, Ray?"

Gritting his teeth, he prepared to admonish her for calling him a familiar term she shouldn't have been using when Ben called to her, "Hey, Linz, sit closer to Jake and me."

The prospect of having double the boys to flirt with caused the promiscuous brunette to perk up considerably. "OK."

Thus, she immediately got up and moved to the table next to the one occupied by Raymond, Rachel, and Paul. Raymond breathed a sigh of relief.

Looking suspiciously at her friend, Rachel clicked her tongue somewhat disapprovingly. "I can't believe the lengths that girl will go to sometimes. I'm sorry about that, Raymond."

"Yeah, so am I. I mean, I was going to call her on that eventually. Was she touching your leg by any chance?" Paul asked curiously.

"At least. I'm only thankful that she didn't touch…other…more intimate places." Raymond cleared his throat, using this as an excuse to drink more of his milkshake.

Paul nodded in understanding. "Yeah, sorry about that, man. I shouldn't have invited her if she was going to try to get in your pants. I thought she was harmless and being Rachel's friend and all…"

"Cousin, actually." Rachel glanced down at her chicken strip basket, losing her appetite relatively quickly at the uttered reminder. "That's not the same thing in this case…I should have brought Melissa—at least she knows how to conduct herself in public."

"Like a lady, in other words." Paul smirked when he got a startled chuckle out of Raymond, who disguised it as coughing in case Lindsey was eavesdropping. "And not like a prostitute."

"_Paul_," Rachel warned despite the spasm of her jaw while Raymond, not being able to rein it in, laughed outright.

Perhaps he should have been mildly offended at Paul's making light of his previous chagrin, but Raymond didn't mind at all. Rather, he enjoyed this quality about Paul, who could find the humor in almost any situation. It could set him at ease and make him forget what situations he himself faced and what they all faced in living in a shoddy city. Paul Salas was as care-free as anybody in Dayton, if not the most care-free person there.

"So, who else failed that English test?" Paul appropriately changed the subject as Raymond swiped a leftover tear of mirth from his eye. "Come on. I can't be the only one."

"You usually are," Raymond snidely remarked with a teasing half-grin.

Rachel added, "I'd have to agree with Raymond, Paul."

"Oh, you two, ganging up on me. I figured you'd get along with each other." Paul beamed, secretly thrilled that his girlfriend and his best friend were really hitting it off. It was rare to see Raymond interacting with other kids besides him, and hopefully, in the future, he would continue coming out of his shell to be this interesting character Paul knew him to be.

The conversation stayed in a light tone for the rest of the half hour they were there, long after they'd finished eating. Not once did it stray to darker news such as Rachel's older brother's recent apprehension by the Timekeepers for attempted robbery at a New Greenwich casino or Raymond's parents lashing out at him once again for not being home by four and subsequently grounding him. Technically, he was still grounded, but he could care less. His parents never showed much love toward him, so why should he bother to reciprocate any sort of affection with obedience? Especially since he would never receive it from either his mother or his father. He could stay out with Paul and his friends as long as he wished.

Due to time issues, though, this was not a possibility. At four-thirty, the six teens all said goodbye to one another before going their separate ways. Rachel and Lindsey lived on the east side of town, Ben and Jake on the north, and Raymond and Paul on the west. As usual, the two brotherly best friends walked home together, with Paul training his eyes on a forgotten beer can that he kicked along the way.

"So, what'd you think of them?"

"I think Rachel will be a good influence on you," Raymond spoke honestly, glancing out of the corner of his eye at his slovenly, restless friend who could never sit still for a second. "Maybe she'll settle you down somewhat."

Paul laughed but without derision despite his next words. "Come on, Ray, it's not like I'm going to marry her or anything."

"Oh really? You two complement each other rather well already, if you want my opinion. She knows when to get you to shut up. And she's always interested in what you have to say. She's your wife already, as far as I'm concerned." Shrugging this last comment off mysteriously, Raymond had a sly smile playing on his lips.

Pausing in his walk and can-kicking, Paul lightly punched his friend in the arm. "Stop it. And besides, you're the one who shuts me up. What's one more person?"

"True, but I shut you up for your own good. Otherwise, your mouth gets you into trouble. Remember when you insulted Mark Nelson so brutally that he had you pinned to your locker? I had to cover for you by saying you were just spouting off what some other idiot was saying, that it wasn't even your real opinion of the guy. That way, he'd turn on someone else and that you wouldn't have to explain a bloody nose for first period."

"It would have been more than just my nose," Paul laughingly scoffed. "Though I still owe you for that one."

"Yeah, Paul, you do." Raymond's smile widened into a know-it-all grin before he good-naturedly patted his bold friend on the shoulder. "…Although I think I'm always going to owe you for the rest of my life."

This conversation between the two adolescents suddenly took a serious turn, a rare occurrence. After all, Raymond used Paul's happy-go-lucky nature to his advantage in that it was the perfect excuse to not dwell on more burdensome topics. Very seldom did they have grim moments such as these and when they did, they heeded to each other's words. Though they weren't girls by any means, and thus didn't often confide in each other about emotions and the like, there was a bond between them. An understanding that no matter what happened in their lives, they would seek each other out when absolutely necessary.

"For what?" Cocking his head to the side, Paul appeared genuinely confused by what Raymond was trying to implicate. The beer can lay still on the sidewalk, momentarily forgotten.

Raymond quietly studied the city bus as it passed by before turning to his friend and putting his hands on his shoulders. He was definitely not, under normal circumstances, what one would consider touchy-feely. But, in this instance, somehow, he needed to convey the depth of his sincerity through touch. Some enigmatic dread built up inside, for something that would either happen today or the future…Whatever the outcome, he had to emphasize to Paul just what all this meant to him.

"I owe you for being so willing to be my friend. I didn't think I'd like hanging out with you at first, but all these years later, I know I can depend on you. I don't feel that way toward many people…especially not my family. Your parents are more like family to me. And…And I consider you my brother, Paul. You've really helped me by being my friend over the years, so I'd just like to say thanks."

Bewildered by such mature words coming from a fellow sixteen-year-old, Paul merely stood still and gaped. He had an urge to laugh it off, as was his nature, but he registered the pensiveness in Raymond's eyes and knew this was no joke. Since he never had any siblings himself, he knew that the feeling was mutual. He just had no clue why Raymond thought now was the opportune time to voice something this deep, with this sense of urgency. Paul internally shrugged at this, though, chalking it up to Raymond being weird every now and again. But weird in a good way, never in a bad way.

A more softened version of his usual smirk appeared on his face, and he patted Raymond on the shoulder. "It's no problem, Ray, it really isn't. I mean, I'm surprised that no one else seems that interested in you. Because you're a cool guy and all…I think everybody should get to know you, and if I had my way, I'd get everyone to like you."

"You can't force that on anyone," Raymond told him gently but rationally.

"Well…I would if I could at any rate. You're just misunderstood, that's all. That's why not many other people get you. But, I'd like to brag that I do, that I've been getting you for all these years. Oh, and I see you as a brother, too."

Paul, rarely sentimental, made to hug Raymond, but the dark-haired teen shook his head. "Now, you're behaving decidedly like a girl."

"Oh, come _on_, we're having a moment here!"

"No, I think the moment's past us now." Raymond looked away, out at the cheap, dirty cars few and far between on this street, suppressing yet another grin. This was quite the unorthodox day. He was hardly ever in an untroubled mood most of the time, only for Paul's sake was he remotely composed.

Paul chuckled. "Yeah, well, thanks anyway, Ray."

"You're welcome."

Everything soon reverted back to normal, with Paul casually chatting and ensuring to mention how pretty he thought Rachel was. Being the studious one, Raymond simply remained silent and would occasionally nod his head in agreement to show he was listening. This was how the dynamic worked between them, always had, yet he wouldn't have it any other way.

They walked two more blocks before Paul fell short of breath. Initially, Raymond paid this no mind, as they'd been walking for a while. Perhaps all the energy Paul managed to deplete today at last caught up with him. He had a tendency to go out on morning jogs along with all the talking he did at school. Surely, for most average people, that would be exhausting.

However, Paul's panting became steadily more pronounced to the point that he stopped walking entirely to place his hands on his knees. As soon as Raymond sensed they no longer walked side-by-side, he peered anxiously over his shoulder. To his great concern, Paul was not only breathing heavily but shaking. Somehow, Raymond didn't believe that this was an onslaught of sickness.

"What's wrong, Paul?" he asked, successfully hiding the apprehension in his voice.

Then, the answer occurred to him.

Just to be sure, he asked another more pressing question. "How much time do you have left?"

Increasingly weaker and weaker by the second, Paul managed to lift his wobbly wrist to where he could see his inscription. "Uh…Three minutes and…and thirty seconds."

"What?!"

"Y-Yeah…I must have…must have forgotten to get some time from my parents this morning."

How foolish of him, Raymond thought in a panic. It was a rule of thumb for school-age children to procure some time from their parents daily before leaving, in case some time was spent after school on extracurricular or social activities. For Paul to forget was troubling, very troubling indeed. Now, his life was practically on the line.

"Stay here!" Raymond barked commandingly, though this was not necessary, as Paul couldn't run off even if he wanted to.

Desperately, Raymond sprinted across the street, ensuring to check the inscription on his own wrist while that thought persisted. Luckily for him, he remembered to take time from his parents this morning, so he still had at least a good half an hour left on his wrist. However, if he didn't find a random passerby to sneak up on soon, both he and Paul would find themselves in the most horrific sort of bind. Part of him even dared to be angry with his friend for jeopardizing their lives to begin with, squandering precious minutes at that diner. Did he not realize that they were in constant danger of losing their lives every day?

After running down a half a block, he spotted a tall redheaded man about to enter a pawn shop. Without affording to be choosy as to whom he could acquire time from, Raymond lunged at the stranger and clutched his wrist, keeping his hand there for thirty seconds before withdrawing.

"Hey, kid, what the hell—?!"

He didn't hear the end of that outraged sentence and hoped that the random stranger wouldn't pursue him. Twenty minutes should take care of Paul for the rest of the way home, and his parents could deal with the issue accordingly if need be. He had to stop for incoming traffic at one point, much to his exasperation. Time was of the essence, and Paul could collapse at any second.

Too late. Once Raymond crossed the street with another burst of speed, he noticed Paul sprawled out on the sidewalk, just barely breathing. With no delay, Raymond landed on his knees hard beside his friend. His lungs felt as though they were on fire, searing his chest. With the added stress, he had breathed harder than he normally did when out running.

Lifting Paul's wrist, he saw that only one minute and fifty seconds remained.

"Shit," he swore, mostly because of how close he managed to cut it. However, he was relieved that there was still a chance to revive Paul. Without another thought on the subject, Raymond latched onto Paul's wrist and waited until twenty minutes were added before releasing.

Once he received this sustainable amount of time, Paul's eyes shot open. The first sight he registered was Raymond sitting with his knees pulled up to his chest, regaining some of the energy he spent in search of someone with time to steal. To his shock, the normally stoic adolescent's pale blue eyes appeared extremely watery.

"Hey, Ray." Paul's voice was raspy from the recovery. "You did a good job, man. I was knocked out for a bit there…And I saw this light. Rachel was there with blueberry pancakes, my favorite, and I was about to follow her and that light. All-you-can-eat breakfast buffet."

When he grinned, revealing that he only confided this in jest, Raymond glared at him heatedly in spite of the tears trailing down his cheeks.

"You bastard, do you honestly believe that you can make a joke out of this?"

Paul's broad grin faded to something more lopsided. "What else do you expect me to do? Life here sucks."

In a last-ditch effort to try calming himself, Raymond closed his eyes and took deep breaths. Inhaling and exhaling, even though he had a feeling that his nostrils were flaring a great deal. And even though he was crying, he seethed with rage at his best friend's irresponsibility, his negligence in tending to himself that morning.

"Be that as it may, you could have _died _today because of your own carelessness!" Not able to hold in these negative feelings any more, he let himself explode. "Do you have any idea how scared I was?! I could have lost my best friend, and that is not a joke, Paul! You came so close to death and for you to make one of your wise-cracks…"

Raymond trailed off and bit his trembling lower lip until it bled in order to prevent himself from looking like such a lost child. He tightened his grip around his legs, shuddering from thoughts pertaining to what would have happened if he hadn't made it to Paul in time. How would he have broken the terrible news to his parents? What if they had claimed him responsible for the tragedy? And Rachel, how would she have reacted?

There were so many people who cared immensely for Paul and for him to attempt to laugh his near-death experience off, however feebly…

Adamantly, he glanced away from his friend, refusing to look at him. He was disgusted and stricken at the same time. It took a hand on his shoulder for him to stare down into Paul's serious dark eyes. No laughter could be found on his face now.

"About this owing thing…Are you sure it isn't me who owes you for the rest of my life? Considering I was stupid enough to risk it and that you ended up saving my sorry ass, I can't repay you enough. Good thing you were with me, I wouldn't have realized I was running out until literally the last minute."

Closing his eyes again, Raymond pinched the bridge of his nose. "Don't worry about it, Paul. Forget about owing and repaying debts and whatnot…I'm just relieved that you're still alive. I do have one request to ask of you, though."

A slight smile made its way onto Paul's face. "And what would that be?"

"Don't ever…" He paused due to his shaky voice before starting over. "Don't ever do that to me again, or I swear I'll never forgive you."

Paul chuckled dryly. "I can promise you that, Ray. I didn't like that feeling of my time draining away. Besides, I can't lose my best friend, can I?"

"You better not. Otherwise, you would really be a sorry ass once I was finished with you."

That comment wiped away all traces of Paul's amused expression, replaced with a worried one. He wouldn't put it past Raymond to thrash him at this very moment, much less years down the road. Indeed, he paled at the thought and stared apprehensively at the other boy, expecting him to appear threatening. What he did see caused his jaw to drop slightly.

Raymond was smirking triumphantly, proceeding to laugh. "Paul, I'm kidding. You should have seen the look on your face!"

"That wasn't funny," Paul shot back reproachfully.

"It was for me." Raymond quit the laughter at his friend's expense relatively quickly as he pointed out, "Now, do you understand why your joke about death infuriated me earlier?"

"Yeah, yeah, I get it. I won't show my sense of humor around you again, I promise."

"I didn't say that. Just…There's a time and place to laugh and trying to after a near-death experience is not one of those times. Especially when you have people who would miss you," he stated more gravely. "Like Rachel. Like your parents and your other friends."

Paul filled in the final blank. "And you?"

Raymond nodded. "And me."

Realizing that approximately five minutes of Paul's refreshed time had been spent, they resolved to finish the rest of the way home together. Ultimately, so as not to startle the Salas parents, the nearly fatal circumstance of Paul's dwindling time was not mentioned. On the contrary, it was kept a secret between just the two of them. That meaningful day signified the finite quality of Dayton ghetto life, how it could all be taken away in an instant. With a new-found appreciation of this and each other as the surrogate brothers they each saw themselves, the friendship between Raymond Leon and Paul Salas became more fortified. The bond between these two, at this point in time, seemed indestructible, strong enough to never fracture.

Both boys being somewhat naïve, neither of them could have predicted what the next few years held in store.

* * *

High school soon became a distant memory, the pettiness, the drama, and the often relaxed times there, once graduation approached. Raymond, due to a combination of his parents' strict standards for him and his own persistence, ended up being the valedictorian. Not used to speaking in front of large crowds, he swore later that he'd been deeply inept in giving his speech. He'd worked diligently on it too, going through three drafts before he was satisfied with the finished product.

Reflecting on clichés that these speeches tended to have, he presented them with a serious yet somehow light-hearted spin, alluding to ambition and diverging paths and that now was the time to face the future. Whatever befell them, good or bad, they would each have the strength to overcome and carry on. No one knew what would happen in twenty years due to time being an unpredictable mistress, as they'd grown up well aware. He wryly joked that by that time, he might forget everybody's names. In sum, he wished his graduating class of 2138 well in whatever endeavors they wished to pursue. To be successful in their dreams and to strive as hard as they could to achieve them. For, now, more than ever, it was imperative that they keep hope in their hearts.

Paul and Rachel, his very much steady girlfriend (in fact, a proposal was on the horizon for the two of them) praised Raymond on his words, assuring him that he did more than a passable job. He performed brilliantly.

Then, the three of them launched their mortarboards into the air along with everyone else willing to participate in the long-standing tradition, smiling and laughing. Frankly, it was the happiest Raymond had ever been in spite of the fact that Thomas and Lorelei Leon were noticeably absent from this pivotal hallmark in their son's life.

Raymond and Paul never lost touch in their post-high school careers. They went out of their way to socialize at the diner or just for a casual stroll. However, the former would often find that he was repulsed at the sights now. Dayton devolved into even more of a ghetto day after day, the poverty and unemployment rates now at an all-time high. The old mall they used to visit from time to time had closed down, and several mom-and-pop shops ceased to exist with some of the buildings condemned. How could he settle for this? Well aware of his worth and what he had to offer the world, Raymond avidly searched for more. He just needed a sign…

It came to him on one of their walks one bleak afternoon, the sky overcast with swirling cumulonimbus clouds. Rain could come pelting down at them any time. However, he chose to disregard the current weather patterns in favor of a billboard that loomed overhead.

"Hey, Ray, what's up? You look like you just swallowed a fly…Oh."

Paul's tone was flat once he registered at what his best friend gazed almost reverently. It was a recruitment billboard, encouraging people to join up with the ranks of…the Timekeepers. He struggled to repress the disgusted noise threatening at the back of his throat, begging for a release.

"I think this was what I was meant to do, Paul," Raymond commented quietly, so softly that Paul almost couldn't hear him.

But, he did. Oh yeah, loud and clear.

Slightly perturbed that Raymond should want this fate for himself, Paul turned to him, eyebrow raised in puzzlement. "Why do you say that? I mean, why would you assume that just by looking at a billboard?"

"Don't you see what this means? If I get recruited by the Timekeepers, I can finally get out of this place. It's been my dream to find something outside of the ghetto for as long as I can remember. Being a Timekeeper is my ticket out of here since they operate out of New Greenwich."

In a sense, Paul could understand where Raymond came from through his declaration of longing to escape Dayton. Many citizens of the city would surely cut off their right hands just to leave, to see the greener grass on the other side that awaited them. He was no optimist when it came to this location in all honesty, well-aware of the crumbling buildings and chaotic scenes that beset his neighborhood.

However, he strived to be an idealist, to somehow improve Dayton one day soon. For now, he valued the people here. He'd been married to Rachel for three years, and she was pregnant, expecting their first child. It filled him with overwhelming joy (but also slight anxiety) to be a father. He currently worked as a bank teller to provide for his wife and unborn child. Escape wasn't exactly an option any more, if it ever was. He had a life with loved ones to build around, having a family of his own. It would be illogical to uproot them all to try surviving in New Greenwich, considering the absurdly high cost of living. Dayton was where he would stay. This would most likely sound abhorrent to Raymond, but this was the life he chose for himself. With only a meager job title to his name, Paul knew it would have to suffice for the sake of the people he loved.

If Raymond couldn't accept that, well, that was his issue to deal with, not Paul's.

"Hm, interesting." He shrugged indifferently, sounding neither curious nor thrilled. "If that's really what you want to do…"

"You doubt me." Raymond stated this, his tone flat, even just a shade vexed.

Not necessarily, Paul inwardly acknowledged to himself. The longing for escape and a sense of freedom that eluded every Dayton resident was definitely something he could relate to. However, the idea that Raymond would join with the Timekeepers of his own free will…Did he have any clue as to what they were really like? They might have given off the appearance of protectors and measurers of time, but they were a corrupt group in all actuality. He'd heard all the stories and then some.

"Well, I wouldn't…if you wanted to go another way about this."

"Oh? Is that so? Do tell me more, Paul, I'm afraid I don't know what you're getting at," Raymond retorted cynically, icily.

"The Timekeepers, Ray…That's all I'm saying. I don't know what you've heard about them. For all you know, they're a bunch of time regulators doing whatever they can for the greater good. But, from what _I've _heard about them, they are corrupt. They accept bribes, under the table or otherwise. Their main concern is to protect the rich and their precious time but leave hardly anything for the rest of us. If someone poor even got an hour more of time than they're supposed to"—Paul was steadily raising his voice, his fists clenching at the thought—"the Timekeepers would make sure to put a stop to that. It's not allowed, according to them."

The storm clouds thickened, thunderheads gaining more definition and substance to them. It would surely start pouring cats and dogs in a matter of minutes. As the sky darkened, so did Raymond's mood.

He scoffed. "Oh, really? Is that what you've heard? That's propaganda that's been spr—"

"No, Raymond!" Paul emphatically pointed to the billboard. "What's on that billboard is propaganda. Besides, I've been hearing these things from my parents. Are you calling them liars?"

"Now, don't blow this out of proportion. I'm after a job, different from the one I have now. That's all. And that job requires keeping time. That's it. No more, no less. Whatever you've been told, I just don't believe, frankly."

Paul felt a sickening feeling plummet down to his stomach at these words. All of a sudden, Raymond became a slightly altered version of himself. This was not the man he'd known all these years. His pursed lips were so thin, his face pale in suppressed fury that begged to be released. And his pale blue eyes turned icy, cold, a sight usually reserved for when he spoke bitterly about his parents. Something told Paul that his best friend had been considering a Timekeeping position for quite some time. Looking at that billboard only reinforced his ambitions, motivated him more to apply, go through the necessary training…and, in essence, fading into a shadow of his former self. Once one got in with the Timekeepers, they were permanently changed.

All the while, thunder rolled, and a flash of lightning cracked off in the distance.

Sighing, he pinched the bridge of his nose. "I'm just trying to give you a heads-up, that's all. Just looking out for you."

"Well, don't!" Raymond barked out. "We're young adults now, free to make our own choices in life. I'm choosing my path, and it's going to involve something that isn't as thankless as your current position in life."

"What?"

"You heard me. Had you opted to forego your wedding plans and having children in favor of getting a damn decent job for yourself, you wouldn't be bogged down and remain in this pig sty."

Out of impulse, the unadulterated anger coming to a boil in his blood, Paul roughly grabbed Raymond and pinned him against a wall. "What the hell are you saying, Ray?! Don't you _dare _tell me how to live my life! I wanted to marry Rachel, and I didn't want to put off our wedding because I'd made up my mind. And I won't ever….ever…see my child as a burden like that. I don't care about huge salaries, just enough to support me and my family. Maybe if you had one that actually cared about you, you'd understand!"

That cut too deep, and it was a statement that Paul automatically regretted once he said it. After all, it hadn't been Raymond's fault that he'd been born to snobby parents who had little investment in his life. They had expected—no, demanded—of him to be a model child of sorts, one who excelled academically and stayed quiet unless spoken to. And how could anyone really anticipate Raymond to grow up in that environment and allow others any closeness or intimacy? His peers could never comprehend his constant reticence, his introversion, or his avoidance of a love life. Not even Paul and he'd known him for years. And it wasn't so much a refusal or lack of understanding…It was simply that he could never relate. Thus, technically, Raymond had always been a loner, borderline insisting on it at times.

Currently, the raven-haired man wrestled with his infuriation at the one he once called friend. Inevitably, Paul had crossed a line that he couldn't return from. He'd uttered a truly blasphemous thing.

"Ah," he hissed out, restraining himself with every fiber of his being not to punch Paul in the face. "I see. That's where my fault lies, my family dilemmas? Kindly get the hell away from me."

A hurt look flashed in the other man's eyes along with regret for foolish words he'd yelled out in the heat of the moment. Words he could never take back, that time might not be able to erase. "Ray, I…"

"Idiot, I said get away!" Lashing out vigorously, he responded by shoving Paul's arms off him and delivering a swift punch to his jaw for good measure.

Paul, in turn, lost his temper. "All right, if you're already letting this job of yours change you, then fine! But, I'm not about to be a part of it. I don't know you any more, Raymond. I really don't. You want me to stay out of your life? Heh, don't worry about it. You've already lost me."

Then, the rain started falling, hard and pelting and mercilessly cold. Raymond numbly stood there, somewhat in disbelief that he'd just punched a used-to-be close friend in the face. He'd never intended to do that, but an overwhelming passion of hot anger engulfed him. As though he was walking into the smoldering flames of hell already…A small, skeptical voice in his mind asked him if, by allowing the Timekeepers to recruit him, he would be selling his soul.

Paul strode away from him as soon as he made his declaration that he'd lost his best friend forever…in a matter of minutes. However, the words exchanged had been irrevocably harsh and brutal that this was understandable. At a loss, without a sharp response, Raymond watched him walk farther and farther away from him. First, two feet, then five, then ten…After twenty feet, he lost sight of him.

He gave no regard to his soggy clothes when he finally did return to his humble apartment, one he'd been living in as soon as he'd graduated high school to break off all ties with his parents once and for all. Soaked to the skin, with his baggy shirt and jeans dripping water onto the cheap, thin brown carpet, he emotionlessly treaded into his bedroom. He shut the door behind him, though there would more than likely be nobody disturbing him, and grabbed the framed picture on his nightstand.

It depicted him, Rachel, and Paul at their high school graduation, all smiles and laughter. Paul had an arm snaked around his girlfriend's waist and his other hand firmly on Raymond's shoulder. A portrayal of happier times gone by. It begged the question as to how all those positive memories managed to dissolve because of a trivial thing such as a desired occupation. So, he wanted to join the Timekeepers, so what? If Paul couldn't deal with that simple fact, then what was the use in keeping him around as a friend or otherwise?

After having displayed no feasible emotion on that long walk home, Raymond let out a strangled cry and hurled the picture away from him. It hit the opposite wall, breaking the frame glass.

* * *

Naturally, the years passed without the two men seeing each other, as their paths diverged in opposite directions. Either of them could attest that they would much rather that it remained that way as well. Despite these long years distancing himself from his past, Raymond Leon still resented Paul Salas for heated words spoken without any cause or justification for them. In turn, Paul thought it was better for them to no longer have contact with each other, especially since Raymond was in league with the Timekeepers. Things could only end badly with that unwise decision.

Raymond was now a rookie Timekeeper, usually left to desk work and the like. Very seldom had he actually gone out on patrol, and he was growing impatient to conduct some field work. He knew Dayton like the back of his hand, so if he had to return to that abominable location for an assignment, he would eagerly jump at the opportunity. Anything was better than filing crime reports on whatever flavor of the week resolved to give them trouble.

After all that lying too, just to get in with the Timekeepers to begin with. For, aware that there was a certain prejudice against Dayton residents, he had meticulously invented a backstory when filling out his résumé. He lied about where he was from and even prior workplace out of a need to come off as superior to other applicants. Surely, he couldn't admit that he'd recently quit a humble occupation as check-out person at Dayton's worn-down grocery store. The concept of admitting such a thing to the Timekeepers was both absurd and humiliating to him.

Indeed, Raymond pulled off all the stops to look impressive on his résumé, including everything but changing his name. The name he decided to keep. After all, Thomas Leon had been a very rich man once. However, they didn't need to know the details of his subsequent financial ruin. All they needed to know was that his roots were that of the wealthy and not of the impoverished.

When the Timekeepers accepted him and he underwent training, he knew that the New Greenwich base was where he belonged. He deserved to belong in this opulent city, full of grand sights and luxurious living. This suited to his tastes far more than the bullet-filled ghettos of Dayton. If only that Paul Salas could see him now…

Of course, desk duty was far from glamorous, but he was earning more money than his former friend would most likely ever see in his assuredly short lifetime. Though Raymond became increasingly restless as time went on with his day-to-day tasks…especially when he was hearing reports from the other Timekeepers that a certain Dayton bank teller stirred up trouble…

As for Paul Salas, in spite of not holding a lucrative position by any means, he was content enough with his loved ones in his life. His young son Will brought him more joy than the boy could ever know. He told him stories of his dealings at night despite Rachel's severest disapproval. And, when his wife had her back turned or she dozed peacefully on the couch after a long day's work at the factory, he would teach him a certain trick he pulled off to earn extra time. It was all in the wrists, he often told his impressionable son.

Ruefully, Paul did think to himself how much nobler and more exciting he was making these stories out to be, being a fighter and all on nightly errands. The truth of the matter was that between his job and Rachel's, they barely earned enough to survive longer than two weeks. So, he considered fighting the time thieves lurking in shadowy alleys his second job. He insisted that what he was doing wasn't immoral, just another means to provide for his family. However, everyone searched for extra time, but they usually worked longer hours in order to accomplish paying for their apartment, water, electricity, etc. Paul was adamant not to choose that option, for how else would he get to spend time with his wife and son? Engaging in fights, gambling, and essentially stealing became his methods. And he hadn't gotten detected by the Timekeepers yet.

He reminded himself that all these debauched deeds were just a means to an end. He was not a bad person…He was only a desperate man protecting his family and caring for them through whatever means necessary. If it meant stealing time to help them live longer, then so be it.

Clearly, both estranged friends had sold a fraction of their souls to do what they did now. For, unbeknownst to Paul, Raymond had initially been the same way. Guilt-ridden when he discovered that the Timekeepers, led by ruthless, grizzled tyrant of a captain in Head Timekeeper Xavier Herrod, weren't above killing law-breakers to make examples of them. And realizing that he now worked for such a group, he had to ignore his conscience. After all, he wasn't the one killing anybody; he had no blood on his hands. Herrod was steeped in these dealings…though the fact that he didn't discourage abuse to prisoners wasn't lost on Raymond.

After the first few pangs and internal moral arguments he had with himself, he managed to cut off any sort of emotion when it came to his job.

He kept time, that was his mantra, one that he would inwardly repeat in an incessant manner for the rest of his life. He was borderline obsessed with the idea that that was all he did and that he would never sink as low as Head Timekeeper Herrod. Never.

Finally, after years of anxious waiting, he was given his first assignment, a night patrol deep in the most crime-infested areas of Dayton. Which, Raymond sardonically remembered, was every area in Dayton. However, he did consider this a great opportunity to prove himself and his worth to the other Timekeepers. He was committed to them and their cause. Whatever misgivings he might have had had vanished, no longer relevant to what his tasks entailed.

That night, he prowled the streets with his hand constantly on his holster, wary of whoever was running about at night. Knowing this city so well, having lived in it for too many years, he had an idea that there were more than common pickpockets crawling about like the filthy rodents they were. No, there was gang activity, sociopaths and homicidal maniacs alike.

As he walked the streets at an agonizingly slow pace, peering over his shoulder every so often, Raymond stayed this cautious. Any suspicious noise he heard he would investigate at once. That was what he'd learned during the classroom orientation portion of his training. Always be on your guard and the minute you hear a disturbance, go after it. Nine times out of ten, it was a shady dealing that had to be interfered with.

Sure enough, thirty minutes in his patrol, he heard shouting and the sound of someone struggling. Criminal activity perhaps? Interesting, he couldn't wait to apprehend the perpetrator and take him back to headquarters. His car was parked a block away, so it would only be a matter of minutes heading back.

He ran toward the noise and as he got closer to the particular back alley, he heard someone loudly accuse, "You…You cheated!"

A familiar cocky voice drawled, "That's the definition of gambling, my friend. Now, are you going to let me go or should I take what's left of your time?"

Well, Raymond would recognize that voice anywhere, enough to know that the brashness was a façade, all for show. Hmph, that man had always been all talk, no follow-through. He couldn't exactly surmise that the man in question had a lack of brains, far from it, actually.

"Stop," he lazily ordered once he approached the two of them, ensuring to remove the pistol from his holster for good measure.

A stout man immediately removed his arm from the other, much taller man's throat, raising his hands up as though on reflex. Ah, all criminals must have been cut from the same cloth, for weren't they all cowardly? In light of being revealed, they just had to bend to submission. Well, perhaps not in the case for the more methodical criminals, but they ended up submitting as well…in the end.

Keeping his pistol trained on the stout man more specifically (as he appeared to be the one to have instigated the fight…at least physically), Raymond dryly inquired, "Now, will either of you care to tell me what you're doing out here this late at night?"

The man with plenty of girth stuttered out, "J-Just pl-playing cards…"

"Playing cards? Hm…You imply gambling." Raymond stepped closer to them, deliberately ignoring the other man who bemusedly looked on. "That wasn't what I just saw, was it?"

"W-Well, y-you see, Timekeeper…This man was cheating me out of time!"

The other man exaggeratedly rolled his dark eyes. "As I was telling you before, Rick, gambling is cheating. If you lost a bit of time, that's your own doing. You shouldn't have challenged me in the first place."

The stout man who could now be identified as Rick growled in frustration, reeling back his fist. As much as Raymond would pay to see what would ensue, he did have protocol to conduct. And as protocol dictated, he had to check out how much time was inscribed on Rick's wrist.

"I see. Rick, come here, I have to look over your time inscription."

"OK, sure," Rick said gruffly, reluctantly hanging his fist limply at his side. "You can see for yourself how much of a crook this guy is."

Shrugging his shoulders rather carelessly, the taller man chuckled at this comment.

Raymond removed a flashlight from his coat pocket, turned it on, and examined the proffered wrist. According to the green lettering, only five hours remained.

"That's suspicious," he remarked off-handedly, easily coming to the conclusion that the tall man standing in the shadows was his main concern. "All right. Rick, you're free to go."

"What?! But what about my time?"

Raymond snorted, unsympathetic to whatever life this man had, if he truly had one at all. Honestly, if Rick were to drop dead the next day because of all that depleted time, he wouldn't even be remotely impacted. "It's not my business what you do with your time or how you go about getting more. If you think I'm going to give you any after giving me that idiotic reason why you lost a substantial amount, think again. Now, off with you before I make _reductions_."

Practically shivering at the thought of further time loss, Rick broke into a stumbling run, leaving Raymond and the man he needed to interrogate further. Or maybe he would lecture. After all, he could never forget a face, especially one this prominent in his past.

"Salas," he spoke at length, putting the pistol away. He doubted he would have to use it on him, but he would keep a hand on his holster nonetheless. "Why am I not shocked to see you out here?"

"I could ask you the same question." Paul leaned against the wall, his arms crossed. "Nice uniform, Ray. Looks expensive. How much time did you have to steal to get that and a fancy New Greenwich penthouse?"

"Don't call me that," he hissed, gripping his holster tighter. "You either address me as 'Timekeeper' or 'sir', understand?"

Tensions quickly thickened between the two estranged men, neither of them having anticipated encountering the other again. A twist of fate that was very unwelcome at the moment. Paul absentmindedly wondered how long this confrontation was going to take. He had to rest for work tomorrow, pretending yet again that an incident like this never happened and that he hadn't done anything as transparently stupid as this.

Paul nodded but boldly stated, "Ray, that is seriously not a good look for you. Big, billowy black coat…Hmph, lucky for us bank tellers, the dress code isn't as bleak as that."

"Do you believe you can joke your way out of this? This isn't high school any more, Salas, or do I need to remind you? I was hoping I'd never see you again, especially since I've gotten an unpleasant glimpse of what you do now. Bank telling not as lucrative as you'd hoped?"

"Likewise on having hoped never seeing you again." Paul inclined his head. "And I'm doing this for my family, Ray. A family I'm going to assume you never had. No wife and no kids still?"

Raymond thrust out his hand.

"I'm not willing to make amends, Ray."

"Your wrist, Salas." The rookie Timekeeper rolled his eyes. "I can't help but think that you have far too much time. You always knew how to trick them at cards."

"Damn it, out of all the Timekeepers….," Paul muttered under his breath but obliged.

Once Raymond had a glance over at Paul's wrist, he couldn't stop his eyes from widening. Eight days. He managed to collect more time than the average Dayton citizen could earn in one business day…or even business week, for that matter. Somehow or other, Paul had been busy cheating the system on his little nocturnal adventures. He wondered what else this man did besides gambling. It wouldn't surprise him if Paul was now the cause of thugs like Rick timing out. There had been an increase of time-outs in Dayton as of late, come to think of it.

It deeply perturbed him. Paul once accused him of no longer being the man he grew up with. Touché…but he could say the same presently. How had he done it? Blatantly disregarding his conscience just long enough to steal other people's time, much less in disobedience to the rules that had to be abided?

Pretending that he wasn't disturbed by this new bit of information, Raymond commented half-snidely, "This is definitely a remarkable find for me, Salas. Eight days on your wrist"—he let out a low whistle—"You must have come upon a windfall. But, at what cost, is my question. I'm sure there have been sacrifices along the way."

Paul glanced downward, his face warming with shame. "We could barely pay rent between what I was earning at the bank and what Rachel was earning at the factory. Not to mention we had our son Will. I had to do something about it."

Tilting his head to the side, Raymond pinned him with an increasingly frosty gaze. "So, you resorted to skulking the streets at night, gambling or fighting or whatever it is you do?"

"I had no other choice!" Paul shouted, matching the Timekeeper's cold-eyed stare with one of his own. "It was either that or let my family die. I'm not even going to bother asking you what you would do in a situation like that."

Raymond was not angry with Paul for breaking the law, as contrary as that was to a Timekeeper's nature. Conversely, he was absolutely _furious _with him for taking these unnecessary risks that would potentially get him killed! And if that ultimately was the outcome, then Rachel and their son would have no one to protect them.

And Raymond supposed that Paul thought he was being ever-so-noble by earning extra time through these dark schemes.

"You're not just gambling with cards or dice, Paul." In a true Freudian slip, he uttered his name. "You're gambling with your life and in essence your family's lives, too. What happens if someone feels cheapened by you enough to the extent that they'll murder you? What then? You're wandering into dangerous territory, and you'll end up reaping your just deserts for it. You can't hide forever."

Paul's glare softened though was still present. "Here you go again. Lecturing me on what I should be doing with my life. You've always done that, Ray. I just realized that. And I'm sick of it. What I do with my life is—!"

"Your business, I know. We can go around in circles with this rehashed conversation all night, but neither you nor I want that, now do we? No, because as we both know, that would merely be a waste of time. I need to confiscate what you have."

Paul's face paled several shades. "No…No, don't take all of it. Ray, please!"

Raymond seized his wrist, and Paul did everything he could to hold back his anguished screams. It wasn't exactly a painful action, since Raymond maintained a rather light hold, but it could be his last night. Rachel would wake up to find him gone and Will…He dared not to think about Will's reaction, not his eight-year-old little boy…

The grip was brief. He wasn't dead after all. However, glancing down, he saw that he had six days rather than the original eight. And he found he could tolerate that amount of time. It was still more than what he'd been accustomed to storing.

Vaguely sneering at him, Raymond subtly taunted, "No, not all of it, Salas. I'm not as cruel as that. Just a two-day confiscation…that was all I was after. However"—his face became extremely grave—"You're fortunate that I didn't take more. I'm letting you off with a warning. If I ever catch you doing something this irresponsible…this rash…this _imbecilic_ again, I won't be so generous."

Conflicted, Paul was unsure whether to thank him or tackle him to the ground, and he was keenly reminded of when they were teenagers, the moment he had almost died. Raymond had saved him then but swore he would never forgive him if he put his life at dangerous risk like that again, to the point of just a few spare minutes remaining. He was doing something similar to this in this situation, only Paul didn't need saving this time. Or maybe he did…

Raymond added, "You're fortunate that it was me who found you here. If it had been any other Timekeeper on patrol, I can assure you that you would have died where you stand."

"Great, now I owe you again…"

A cross between a smug smirk and a bitter smile flickered on the Timekeeper's face. "I'd much rather you didn't owe me anything. I have to be the one to keep your sorry ass out of trouble."

And he left Paul with those words to meditate.

* * *

A few months later, massive chaos broke out in Dayton. Head Timekeeper Herrod decided that as many of his subordinates as possible would accompany him to the bank. A riot had broken out there as time was being stolen by several people, and now, there was the inevitable fighting to contend with.

It started with a secret resistance group meeting in old warehouses, abandoned apartment buildings, and the like to discuss plans to take back New Greenwich. Or, rather, to claim their own spots in New Greenwich while usurping the pampered denizens in the process. They would begin by stealing as much time as they could from the bank to make a statement, that all the time in the world should be theirs. It should be everybody's, as there had been an era when financial status and class didn't factor in to how long someone lived. Armed with that much time, they would then go onward to New Greenwich and to steal from the banks there. More prosperous lives would be theirs through these necessary steps.

The mastermind behind this idealistic goal? Paul Salas.

He had become a revolutionary in the eyes of the other resistance group members, and he accepted that with grace. After all, not only could he guarantee a more enriched life with his family but other people's families, too. They would no longer be forced to partake in meager meals or worry about how high the water bill had been hiked on a monthly basis. In tranquility, they could finally be at peace and not have to struggle for every necessity they were entitled to have.

Rachel fretted over Paul's lofty ideas, afraid that they were bound to get him killed. She implored of him not to follow through with the demonstration at the bank, as there would be so many lives at stake and that greedier, lesser people would jump at the chance for open thievery.

"I'll be fine, Rachel. I'm doing this for you and Will," he reassured her, kissing her on the lips for, unbeknownst to him, what would be the last time.

She bit her lip, struggling not to cry. "I understand that, and I do want a better life for us. Who here wouldn't want to improve their lives? But…At what cost? And this plan might…There's the chance it might not succeed."

"Whatever happens, at least we tried." Paul smiled lopsidedly before stepping into the living area to find Will engrossed with the ten-inch television.

Turning his blond head toward his dad, he revealed the grin he'd inherited from him. "Are you going to rob the bank today, Dad?"

"I sure am, son. Wish me luck."

Somehow, he felt the urgency to hoist his son in the air and hug him (even though he _was _eight, nearly nine), which he did.

Will struggled. "Daaaad, I'm not four any more."

"I know that, buddy. Ugh!" Paul grunted, putting him back down on the floor. "You're getting heavy, you know that? I gotta pop out my back now. Oh…Ooooh, yeah, that feels good."

"I told you I'm not four any more." Will was intent on rubbing that tidbit in.

"No…No, you're not. Well, kid…Goodbye. I love you."

"Love you too, Dad."

Tears had threatened at the corner of Paul's eyes then in the knowledge that he hadn't stated whether or not he was coming back. For once, it was best not to have Will's hopes up.

This turned out to be truer than he would have ever thought possible once a particularly burly Timekeeper grabbed him from behind, tackling him to the ground. Paul had fled the scene as soon as he registered that this flimsy, optimistic plan of his had fallen apart. Apparently, there were the Dayton residents who would ruin everything, and that was why this city stayed the same. Mostly everyone excluding his comparatively tiny resistance group had no hope left. All they did now was stealing and lying and cheating…Things he'd done in the past but had surrendered after Raymond warned him of what else he was gambling with.

Well, that point was moot now, he considered as he was hauled away in a slick jet-black Timekeeper car. Only the best New Greenwich could buy.

In the meantime, Raymond stood in the crossfire, abjectly horrified at what he was beholding with his eyes. His work colleagues shot left and right at people running in all directions to escape capture. Only, these people weren't being apprehended. Several of them fell to the ground, some dead instantly and others struggling to breathe.

The worst part of it was that Head Timekeeper Herrod wasn't ordering them to hold their fire. On the contrary, he participated in his fair share of violence. Raymond observed how he purposely stepped on a corpse's head as he was looking where to aim. The glass doors to the bank had been shattered, with shards of the broken pieces lying everywhere on the stone steps.

As he cautiously ventured inside, he noted that even several tellers had been killed, though they weren't in on the robbery at all. What madness was this? He felt as though he'd landed in the middle of a war scene, with such incomprehensible savagery on display. He could honestly admit to not being proud of his job and all the implications of what exactly his title was. His pistol remained in its holster, since he refused to use it, repulsed as he was.

It was just a robbery, he wanted to helplessly exclaim, there was no serial killer on the loose. What ever happened to "you're under arrest" and handcuffs? The only time to shoot should be when they were threatening the Timekeepers with malicious intent. Not running away in the hopes that they wouldn't be gunned down by the very people sorting out the disturbance. No…Ever since they'd arrived here half an hour ago to subdue the turmoil, _they _had been the disturbance.

Herrod had yelled into a megaphone at the rebellious citizens to calm down immediately. When they hadn't heard him, that was when he ordered his underlings to "fire at will, and don't stop until they're all dead."

Raymond shivered at the memory.

Timekeeper Adams then appeared behind him. "Leon, we got him. We're headed back to headquarters now."

"Who?"

Due to the resistance group that organized the robbery being well-concealed, none of them could even guess as to who the ringleader was. His heart pounded steadily in dread. He had surmised who it was two months ago, but he withheld his assumption from the rest of the force. After all, he'd saved his life…Twice. He didn't want to feel as though those efforts had gone to waste.

"He said his name was Paul Salas."

Raymond closed his eyes. Damn. Not again.

He had another ill notion that he wouldn't be able to get Paul out of this one, not this time.

* * *

"He's going to be executed for disturbance of the peace and inciting a riot," Herrod told him at headquarters. "This was more than just a random robbery. This was a deliberate attempt on disrupting the time zones. Even Salas admitted it himself, when I interrogated him, that he was going to New Greenwich next and rob some time there. What his purpose in pursuing this, though, I won't try to comprehend. Most likely to the effect that these serfs thought that there was a chance they'd get their slice of the pie. Such high goals…"

Raymond stared evenly at his superior, his jaw tightening as he heard the condescension dripping off every word. It was smug, too. Herrod had said these last few sentences with a cold sneer.

The smirk widened as he irreverently commented with a flourish of his hand, "Of course, these goals need to be taken down. If the people from the Dayton ghettos assume that they can achieve bigger than what they know, they are sadly mistaken. Many of them can't even last a year. And the taxes are getting higher and higher over there…"

"I suspect price-gouging could be at play there, sir."

Herrod's smirk distorted in a grimace. "Perhaps."

"Is there a specific reason you requested me in your office, sir?"

It was a room that suited Herrod's wretched personality well, Raymond had to confess. A decorative sword encased in a glass display case was on the shelf behind and just above Herrod's head. How he'd acquired such a thing was anyone's guess. On another wall was a large electronic map of the time zones and several dots representing homes and businesses. And the room itself was richly decorated with velvet red carpeting and blood-red walls. Too ironic that the floor and walls should appear so blood-drenched, Raymond thought sarcastically. If he ever was promoted to this position, he would hire an interior decorator to drastically alter this office.

Herrod answered his question just as he himself was forgetting what he had asked. "Naturally, Leon, though you are a rookie. You must be wondering why I have deigned to speak with you, with that in mind. Well, I have a hunch, and I always have one when I find some new blood that have the potential to be brilliant. I think you are such a case. And I just think it's high time to test my theory."

"How so?"

"_You _are going to play the part of executioner, my good man. If you can stomach it, you will get yourself a promotion."

No. Killing the man he'd grown up with…His best friend…Speaking of stomachs, his own churned distastefully.

It was either this or Herrod execute Salas and him, he assumed. But, wait…The gears in his head began to turn. If he outwardly agreed to this offer of a promotion, then he could find some way to ensure that Paul got off scot-free. Maybe they could fabricate some story together of how he wasn't really the leader and that someone who was had framed him.

With his mind made up, Raymond looked up to meet Herrod's steely gray-eyed gaze. One eye had been shot off early in his career, so he wore an eye-patch to cover the scarring. His short gray hair that now had some white peeking through was precisely trimmed. His ugly bulldog face was heavily wrinkled, suitable for such a grizzled, heartless man. Raymond loathed him, couldn't stand the sight of him.

"Do we have a deal?" Herrod raised an eyebrow.

"Of course, sir. Of course."

"Good. I'll be watching for the results."

Merely inclining his head respectfully in response, Raymond left the office and briskly walked down the hallway to the holding cell where the prisoner sat, subdued, on a hard wooden bench.

Swiping his ID card through the slot next to the double doors, he passed through them to stand in front of Paul.

He glanced up at him, the tiniest grin on his lips. "Never thought I'd see you again."

"I hoped I wouldn't either." Raymond shrugged with one shoulder, feigning nonchalance.

Deep down was a different story. Emotions turbulently swirled underneath the surface. He didn't know how to phrase what he had to say to him. The Timekeepers find you guilty of disturbing the peace and inciting a riot, your sentence is death…? He couldn't fathom saying this to him. Desperately, he hoped that Herrod had no knowledge of their history; otherwise, he would have deemed that he'd been assigned this none-too-pleasant task on purpose. Herrod was a malicious man. It wouldn't surprise him if this was precisely the case.

Another part of him was enraged with Paul for getting himself into a mess again and after he'd expressly warned him not to go around looking for trouble.

"So…What now?" Paul asked, showing no sign of nervousness through his tone, yet he wringed his hands until they were white at the knuckles.

Suddenly, it felt as though sand filled Raymond's throat, and he hadn't the heart in him to tell him that…

_"I'll be watching for the results."_

Sooner rather than later was what Herrod expected, no doubt.

He replied too coolly, "I've been assigned with the task of executing you. Head Timekeeper's orders."

Paul nodded. "Yeah, I figured that's how it's going to turn out."

Unconsciously, Raymond stepped closer to him, the sandy sensation in his throat expanding. It felt like he had just swallowed a desert. His hands trembled slightly. He'd saved him from certain death when they were both sixteen, and now, he had been ordered to take his life away. He couldn't do it, he realized. Inevitably, he'd feel that way, since he had begun questioning the Timekeepers' motives upon his inception into the force. However, he had opted to toss away those doubts, those dubious thoughts, in favor of wages he could live comfortably on. He wondered how he could live with himself after this, after the ultimate sin of killing his surrogate brother.

"Why, Paul? Why the hell did you think this was such a fantastic plan? I told you not to take risks."

"I gave up the gambling and the rigged fights for good but—"

"That isn't the point!"

"Let me finish, Ray," Paul calmly insisted, even though he was the one sentenced to die. "I wanted a better life for everyone. That was why I formed the resistance group. If we came to New Greenwich with enough time to spare, then we could build beyond our wildest dreams. There would be no more starving or poverty for those who chose to come with me. I should have known it wouldn't work out."

"Like Icarus flying toward the sun," Raymond whispered, shaking his head at Paul's character flaw, and that was his determination or stubbornness, whichever term fit him best.

Herrod had been right about one thing and one thing alone. The goal of improving the lives of Dayton residents was set too high, especially since many of them had dwindled into despair and resignation of their cruel fates. Most that were born here were stuck here, having the shortest straw thrust upon them.

Raymond sighed. "I don't think you ever knew what too far was. You were always guilelessly idealistic, letting your instincts guide you."

"Are you saying I'm reckless?"

"In so little words, yes."

To his surprise, Paul grinned. "At least I was living."

"Well, now you're about to die…unless I let you walk and save you the trouble of dying…for old time's sake."

His friend and his brother, though not by blood…He could not imagine his death nor could he accept such a fate for him. That fight they'd engaged in when they were both brash young youths rather than the thirty-year-olds they were now…It was as though light-years had passed since that moment he'd blocked from his memory. Now, he wanted nothing more than to rescue Paul Salas from a fate he did not deserve, the injustice of having his life cut tragically short. Lesser men could be put in his place, just not this good-hearted individual.

Paul's smile broke, as fragile as it could be given his circumstances. "I deserve to be punished for putting my dreams ahead of my family. That's what I ended up doing, whether I admitted it or not. Go ahead. Do it."

Raymond became further torn by this encouragement. Why would he allow himself to be embarrassingly subjected to death at the Timekeepers' hands, the very people he could not tolerate? Furthermore, he had a family to consider…He was making his decision too quickly, too rashly yet again!

"No. I won't allow this."

"Come on!" Paul shouted, abruptly, frighteningly serious. "I know what this is for. Your promotion, right? Tell me I'm right. Besides, if I go under, that's it. No one else has to be killed on my—"

"It's too late. Didn't you see the bodies outside the bank?"

"I mean no one else as in my wife and son. If you let me walk, that's fine, but the other Timekeepers won't stand for it. They'll track me down and break into my apartment. I don't even want to imagine what they'll do to my family…You saw what they did out there, monstrous acts of violence that did not need to be happening."

Damn, he was right. Of course he would be correct in his assumptions.

Paul tacked on more gently, "And if you don't execute me, they'll kill you too for letting me walk. Don't assume they won't."

"I don't need your pity," Raymond hissed, reining in the urge to cry and scream himself hoarse. His blue eyes already started to water. "I put my career ahead of everything else. I don't deserve for you to be forgiving to me."

"I never really hated you, you know. How could I? You came from a rough part of town, so did I. And your parents weren't exactly the kindest souls around. I'm not excusing you for what you said back then but…You don't deserve to be despised for it. You thought this was the only way out."

A brief silence settled in which Raymond mulled over his friend's words before asking, "But, what about your wife and son?"

"They'll find a way to carry on. I'm not saying it's going to be easy but…Rachel and Will…They'll make it, I know it." Paul turned his head away, lifting an arm over his eyes so that his tears wouldn't be visible to anyone else.

Raymond felt like he was shattering. He could not take a father away from his son, he wasn't that heartless. He rolled up his sleeve, glancing at the two weeks' time emblazoned on his wrist. If he could just give him two hours…

When Paul looked up again, he observed Raymond had his wrist outstretched toward him. "I can give you two hours. That should give you enough time to find someplace safe, someplace where you can get more time if you have to. I'm not letting you die like this."

Tears still streaking down his face, Paul smiled wryly and waved a dismissive hand. "Nah, I've had a good run of it. I'm from Dayton after all…It's going to be no surprise if I die. And I tried not getting Will's hopes up this morning before I left…"

"Don't talk like that," Raymond snapped, desperate in his intention to keep his childhood friend alive. "I'm willing to let you live, don't you realize that?"

A gravelly voice on the intercom interrupted their conversation. "Are you going to end it now, Leon, or are you going to talk Salas to death?"

Both men sighed in unison.

Paul offered his wrist, the dashing smile not quite leaving his face. "I'll hurry this up since I seem to be inconveniencing your friends"—he chuckled at Raymond's wince—"Kidding. But…Could you do me a favor, old friend?"

"Anything." Raymond gulped, strenuously blinking back the stinging in his eyes.

"Look after Will for me? Just to make sure he's safe and happy…that sort of thing…Just when you're out on patrol in Dayton, you might want to keep an eye on him. I'm not asking for you to be his new dad or anything…I know he wouldn't want that. Even if you make it all the way to the top within the Timekeeper ranks, I want you to do that much for me."

Raymond nodded. "Sure, of course."

"_Now_, Leon, before I regret selecting you for this."

That impatient old man…

"I can still give you time, you have that option."

Shaking his head, Paul smiled sagely. "No, my running days are over."

"Very well…" Raymond exhaled lengthily, pushing the thought that he would be killing his friend to the back of his mind. Too bad it was the only thing on his mind, persisting the more their time ran out. "I guess this is goodbye then."

"Yeah. Bye, Ray. I'll miss you."

The two men had managed to repair their fractured friendship then. That was something to take solace in, to be thankful for at the very least. Yet, Raymond couldn't help thinking that they should have resolved their differences sooner. He had never come to Paul and Rachel's place to visit, obviously, and he'd never gotten to meet their son. What did he even look like anyway?

If he had to take a guess, it would probably be that he inherited many physical and character traits from his father. Thus, once he matured into a young man, he would be quite the handful. Obnoxious too, no doubt, wanting to cause trouble. If he had to chase down another generation of Salas…That would be his luck.

Paul Salas and Raymond Leon looked each other in the eyes for the last time, both of them seeing the forgiveness they'd each secretly craved for a long time but both too proud to admit. Too arrogant to outright say that even now. However, they silently said, "I forgive you" through that glance.

Raymond threw out his hand and latched it onto Paul's wrist, not to give him time but to take it away. He couldn't bear it, so he shut his eyes before he could second-guess what he was doing. After a full sixty seconds, he sensed the wrist falling limp and the pulse slowing…slowing…a few more seconds…

The pulse stopped beating. Paul Salas was dead.

Without observing his friend's dead body, Raymond strode out of the room as rapidly as he'd come in without a backward glance. He knew what he would look like now, since he'd now seen too many corpses. Brown eyes would be glazed over, mouth possibly hanging at an angle. His hands would hang limp, and overall, in his sitting position, he would appear nothing more than a doll waiting to be played with. Sick and twisted as those thoughts were, it was what the image reminded him of in terms of people lying dead.

However, if he had looked, Raymond would have witnessed for himself that his thoughts were much too morbid. For, Paul died with a smile on his face, at peace with the world and with the one man he needed to make peace with.

Herrod stopped him on his way out, standing in the middle of the hallway with a demented grin on his face. "So, you cut off the snake's head now?"

Raymond kept walking, making sure to roughly bump his shoulder against Herrod's. "He was a person, you bastard."

His shift wasn't completed, but he didn't care. Executing a prisoner had been work enough for one day, draining him of everything he had. He drove home to the swanky penthouse he had purchased a few years ago, almost as soon as he received his first few paychecks. Unlocking the door, he staggered inside, half-tempted to prepare himself a stiff drink to forget this ever happened.

He settled for sitting on the couch, placing his head in his shaking hands.

He hadn't cried when his father died two years ago, when he'd drank himself to death on the wares he'd been bartending, thoroughly exhausted with the fact he could never be wealthy again. No one could force him to sympathize with his mother when she had to take on an extra job to support herself because he obstinately would not provide for her despite her shrill pleas. And for all the instances he'd been put down and ostracized by countless people, he remained unfazed.

It took for his best friend to die for him to sob, fully and unapologetically.

The old high school picture had never been discarded, positioned within a new frame on his new nightstand. For, Raymond would never throw the memories of that time in his life away, not for anything in the world. He still had the most important recollection of all…

"_Especially when you have people who would miss you. Like Rachel. Like your parents and your other friends."_

"_And you?"_

"_And me."_

* * *

Within two years, Herrod died of a sudden heart attack, and Raymond had been promoted to Head Timekeeper due to his resilience in his field work. The fact that he apprehended many law-breakers and kept things in the city of New Greenwich orderly was another factor. He was a man who knew what he was doing.

However, he didn't know why he patrolled Dayton today when he had the freedom to do whatever now, just as long as he reasonably kept his underlings in line. Perhaps it was because he did want to keep a promise to an old friend. But, honestly, what were the chances of spotting…?

Across the street, he saw a boy, who couldn't be older than ten, running down the sidewalk and holding what appeared to be an ice cream cone. He seemed to be catching up to a group of friends, judging by the names he was shouting.

A wave of nostalgia hit Raymond suddenly, bringing him back to memories of his own childhood and hanging out with a certain best friend. How they would carelessly run down the sidewalks and through the slums, playing cops and robbers (a game that became too literal later in their lives). How they would sometimes steal treats like cookies and ice cream…Hmmm…

This boy had Paul's brown eyes, the exact shape of them. His hair was blond and curly, as Paul's had been when he was around that age.

Sure enough, Rachel Salas walked swiftly after her son, quite a feat to accomplish in heels. She sensed that Raymond was staring at her, watching her and her son Will, and stopped. Gazing out across the street, she looked directly at him.

He inclined his head respectfully toward her, unsmiling.

She tilted her head to the side, as though wary of him, and he swore he was only having illusions when he saw her give a very small, hesitant smile out of acknowledgement.

Raymond would most certainly keep Paul's promise to the day he died, if necessary. Will would be grown enough to look after himself by then, but he would still be on the lookout for brown eyes and by-then darkened light brown hair.

After all, had their roles been reversed, Paul Salas would have done the same for him. They had always owed each other like that.

* * *

**A/N: Yeah, in my opinion, Raymond Leon had a backstory that heartbreaking, and that's why he turns out the way he does in the movie...Well, sort of. Anyway, it was difficult for me to write the best friend relationship between him and Paul, so I actually owe quite a bit to the movie Thor. Because I'm fascinated with the relationship between Thor and Loki, especially with that deleted scene I can't believe didn't make the final cut. There are definitely some similarities between that brother relationship and this one, I feel.**

**Well, I hope you enjoyed, blood, guts, and all. All that angst. But also...I feel proud of this one for some reason. XD**


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